We haven’t seen the last of the heat yet, but summer is breathing its last slow breaths and fall’s colors are just beginning to tiptoe over the edges of a few leaves here and there. Sometimes it feels as if all the year is made up of these in-betweeny times, these changeful days when we stay still and the seasons carefully switch places around us. My skin hates alterations in the air – it always gets dry and irritated – and Ross will tell you that my cold feet when the summer ebbs are a burden to bear on his warm skin — but it’s worth it to feel the movement of the earth like this, so seldom seen in any other way. I feel cradled in the arc of my planet’s orbit, like a heavy-eyed eight year old lolling against the back seat of the car while the bright blurry world streams past her window. I don’t know how we’re getting home, but homeward bound we are. And while we travel I try to imagine our universe, finite but unbounded like our minds.